"Why, as for that, I can't say. But now and tan I think I shall never be the man I was. I shall never be able to dig and trench, and mow and thrash, as when I was a youngster. And, at my time of life, I can't expect it. I am sixty-five come October. I tell you what, Sir, I see mercy mixed up with this affliction; and, as one of the Psalms says, I can sing of mercy and judgment. What a mercy that my neck was not broken; and that I had no broken bones. I never felt my heart so full of gratitude on going into my homestead as I did the morning when I was brought in on the hurdle. I couldn't help shedding some tears, like. The Lord be praised."
"Then you do not murmur, or feel disquieted?"
"No, no, Sir; not I. I an't going to commit that sin. I have had much comfort while lying on this bed, and no mistake. My mistress comes and sits by my side, and reads God's precious Book to me. I get main fond of the Psalms: they are like upland springs, they refresh my soul at once, like. And she comes, after church, on a Sunday, and talks over the sarmunts she hears there; and they come home to my heart. And Harry often comes, when he has struck off work, and he reads a bit, and gives the meaning of it, in his plain way, and what he says comes to my heart. So you see, Sir, I have many mercies mixed up with this affliction."
"Well, Farmer, I am happy to find that you are still holding on your way to the kingdom of heaven, and are full of peace and hope as you move onwards."
"Why, Sir, I hope you didn't think I should turn back, when you were gone. Turn back to the world and sin! and turn my back on the precious Saviour, who had compassion on, and rescued me when I was a lost sinner! No, Sir; I would rather be hacked to death first, and no mistake. But I mustn't feel boastful. I don't keep myself. No. The Lord is my keeper. I mind a sarmunt Mr. Ingleby preached one Sunday morning. It made me strongish in faith, like; I got the text by heart before I took dinner, and I can say it, without missing a word—'And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand' (John x. 28)."
"The Psalmist says, 'It hath been good for me that I have been afflicted;' and I suppose, Farmer, you can say the same?"
"Yes, Sir, I can, and no mistake. I am main glad for this affliction. It gives me a bit of breathing time, like; I can think over spiritual matters now I am in this quiet room, better than I could while busy at the farm work. It's all right. The Lord be praised."
"You expect, I suppose, that you shall soon get about again?"
"Why, as for that, I can't say. I have a main liking for this room. It is so quiet, and my thoughts now and tan be so delightsome. It's true I have had a power of pain and suffering, but this has been overtopped by heart's ease and spiritual rejoicings. I can say, what my mistress read out of the blessed book, 'The Lord has made my bed in my affliction.' And here I am, willing to lie still or get up, to suffer longer or go to farm work, just as the Lord pleases. I a'nt much mindful about it."
"I suppose, Farmer, you have thought sometimes during your confinement, about your departure from earth, to be with Christ?"